The Tales of My Heart
by Shoshy566
Summary: When Sherlock breaks John's laptop, John is forced to use Sherlock's but when he goes to open up his blog he notices a very interesting link and is compelled to open it. Please note: This fanfic is in competition with my friend's. We each got a list of 3 odd words and were assigned to create Johnlock! The loser has to buy the winner coffee! I'll post her link when she's done.


Chapter 1

"Sherlock" John shouted from across the room holding up his laptop with one hand and pointing at it with the other. "What the hell is this?"

Sherlock glanced up from his microscope briefly before looking back down at his work. "It's your laptop, John. I would have thought that even you would know that."

"No, Sherlock!" John was outraged. "Look closer. What is wrong with it?"

Sherlock let out a sigh and looked at it again, taking off his goggles. "I may have dropped a gabbro on your computer screen when I was checking an email."

John was baffled. "What do you mean 'may have'? Sherlock, my entire screen is broken! I had work on there. And why were you even using my laptop in the first place? You have your own in your bedroom. And what the fuck is a gabbro and why is there one in the flat?"

"Yours was closer" Sherlock said with a shrug. "And a gabbro is a subcategory for an igneous rock. It was evidence from that case where the suspect was found deceased in the mountain ranges in the country. Remember? He wasn't really even habilable for the funeral according to Molly." Sherlock gave is rage-filled flat mate a look of concern. "You should really try to relax. I heard that taking deep breathes helps."

John pinched his nose as if he was trying to stop it from bleeding and he closed his eyes. "I don't need to relax, Sherlock. What I need as a new laptop."

"Then go out and buy one. I'll admit that I broke it; sorry. Just use my credit card." Sherlock waved his hand at John like it was no big deal and fished his wallet out of his back pocket all the while still focused on the slide under his microscope.

"I'm not doing that. Just pay for what the value of it was, not for a new one. And besides, it's eleven at night. All of the shops are closed by now." By now his voice had mellowed out. It was difficult to be angry with Sherlock for over a few minutes under normal circumstances but it was nearly impossible when he had offered to by John a new laptop and gave an apology on top of it all. "I just really needed to write something."

"It's no trouble. Consider it an investment. You are, after all, my blogger." A half grin formed on Sherlock's face as he said it. "And what is so important that you need to write it right now anyways?"

John ran his hands through his hair. "It was that case about the dog back when we were in Baskerville. You gave it a nine, remember?" John watched as Sherlock's head shot up from the microscope.

"You were going to write about that now?" His eyes were huge. "I was rather looking forward to reading that one…" He looked to his side and then back at John. "If you must, I guess you can use my laptop for tonight until we can go to the store tomorrow. It's in my bedroom on my dresser."

John gave Sherlock a quick thanks before walking inside Sherlock's room. He'd never been there in the years that he had roomed with Sherlock and was quite interested although a little hesitant to go inside. It was nothing like how he had expected it to be. Sherlock had the smaller of the two bedrooms but his was painted a deep red almost to match the color of blood. John couldn't decide if it was that color because of mere coincidence or Sherlock's rabelaisian sense of humor; not that it mattered. John looked around a bit more. Sherlock's bed was dirt brown and pushed up against the corner of the room. It was unmade and surrounded by piles of open books and mismatched paperwork. There was a floor lamp directly next to his bed assumingly so that he wouldn't need to get out of bed to do his paperwork. There was also an entire wall of boxed case files that stretched all the way to the ceiling. Directly under the window, on the side of the room that Sherlock's bed was pushed up against was the dresser. John could see Sherlock's slate-black laptop blinking indicating that it was charging. He crept across the mahogany floors to the outlet and unplugged it, carrying the laptop and charger to the living room where he could type in the silent company of Sherlock who was still working with his experiments.

John opened the lid of the laptop and looked down at the desktop screen. There were two links: one to Chrome and the other to a Microsoft Word Document entitled 'My Deepest Thoughts'. John thought of opening the document. He had never actually been able to understand how Sherlock's thought process worked and this seemed like a promising link. Tempted, he scrolled over the document with his mouse before quickly opening Google Chrome, determined to write his post of the day.

Three hours had past and John was finally done. Sherlock hadn't moved since he had started his experiment in the kitchen and looked to be in a state of extreme concentration. John minimized Google Chrome and looked at the word document link. It wasn't as if Sherlock had ever invaded John's privacy before; hell, invading John's privacy was the reason that John was in this scenario in the first place. John glanced over at Sherlock quickly before double clicking on the document. It lit up the screen and opened to a post from two years ago. John read it quickly, feeling a little bit guilty that he was invading Sherlock's privacy like this.

Journal Entry 1,

Mycroft had requested me to create a journal to record my innermost thoughts: just more nonsense from another person. Nevertheless, I have decided to follow his 'advice' as to clear a favor that I had supposedly owed him. Whatever this is for, I suspect his own amusement, I insincerely hope that you enjoy reading it as my journey begins on Baker Street.

I have acquired a new flat and flatmate; not very interesting but more so than the others. I brought him on a case with me. That was… different. I would normally feel impartial to having people around me while I work. Most people are idiots like Anderson but this one was rather intellectual, although he hardly thought so himself, and I'm certainly not going to say so. His name is John; a rather mundane name although his character doesn't reflect the same simplicity. It was amusing to watch him so taken aback by my detective abilities. I believe that I'll be taking him on many more cases.

-Sherlock Holmes

John didn't know how to feel about what he had just read. Sherlock, even from the start, had seen something in John; something that not even John himself had been able to detect. It made him feel good to know that somebody thought he was different, special even, and if that person was Sherlock then even better. The thought made his stomach feel as though it was doing backflips. John searched the document for the name "John" and was genuinely surprised when he got fifteen search results; even if they were just small blurbs. He scrolled through the list picking out the ones that seemed like the most interesting reads.

Journal Entry 12,

It's been a little over two months now since we moved into the flat. Mrs. Hudson is just as nice as I remember from working with her in the past. She likes to do the dusting although she claims that she isn't our housekeeper. I let her. She's looking for a distraction, obviously.

The flat is also well although it does get fairly messy from time to time. John likes to cook. He's actually better than I would have initially suspected; something rather unusual. He has taken a deep interest in my abilities to solve cases and has created a blog to write about them and me I suppose. I haven't been on it; too many things to do. Just as he has fascinated himself with my cases I find myself fascinated with his life story. It had occurred to me that, while I can see the current details of his life, I know little about his emotional views or his past. Oddly enough, I haven't done anything to make him want to leave. The flatmates before him haven't lasted over a few weeks and I find myself pondering the possibility of the change occurring through me or through him.

-Sherlock Holmes

John almost had to reread the entry just to make sure that his eyes weren't fooling him. He was amazed that Sherlock thought about these things. Everything that Sherlock had done so far led John to believe that he had tried to abandon emotion all together and focus on his work but apparently that was not the case. John glanced back up at Sherlock who looked like he was finishing up his experiments for the night. Quickly, he scrolled down to the last entry that mentioned John. It was only written a few days ago.

Journal Entry 68,

I find myself in a very odd position that I do not believe I have ever been in before. I was on a case with John doing the standard procedure and he asked me a question; I didn't catch what it was. But when I looked up to ask him what it was I noticed how the rays of sunlight hit his gold hair, even though we were covered by the cloudy skies of London. I noticed the sparkle in his eyes and the mixed look of admiration and kindness that was expressed through his soft lips. I noticed how his personality seemed to radiate off of him. And I had to force myself to suppress the feelings inside of my stomach and the urge to lean in and kiss him. I've known that I've wanted to for a long time but I expected feelings to pass. This, I fear, is love.

But love is not what I truly fear; what I fear is losing the ability to tell it apart from lust or something insincere. The last thing that I want is to hurt John. It is evident that he does not feel mutually and thus I refuse to confess my feelings. It wouldn't be worth it to me to add any added strain to our friendship. And if it's too much of a risk then so be it. To be with John will have to suffice. If only it wasn't like pleading for rain while standing in the desert.

-Sherlock Holmes

John sat there staring at the screen in disbelief of what he had just read. He closed out of the document and shut the laptop off. He tried to regain his composure as he looked at Sherlock from across the flat but his pulse was racing and his hands shook slightly. When he looked at Sherlock his image of the neutral detective was replaced with an image of a man who was passionate about his job and passion itself. He noticed Sherlock's composure a little more closely this time. What he originally thought was detachment seemed to be nothing more than the calm composure that Sherlock worked under. He could see the intense focus he had on his work and the slight upward curve of his lips that signaled an interest in what he was doing.

John felt a stab of guilt and resentment towards himself for not seeing Sherlock in this light before. This was the Sherlock that he wanted to know; the Sherlock that he even looked up to from time to time. He felt ashamed that there had been times when he honestly thought that Sherlock had tried to abandon all emotion. John looked at the detective, so deeply consumed by his work, for hours until he found himself drifting in and out of a deep slumber.

Chapter 2

John awoke on the couch that morning with a stiffness in his back and a blanket over him. He opened his weary eyes and sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. He could see that it was midday from out the living room window and looked around for Sherlock who was sitting adjacent from him reading the paper.

"I thought you may have been chilled" Sherlock stated without looking up from his paper. John looked down at the blanket. Sherlock must have put it on him after he fell asleep last night.

"Thank you" John replied, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened last night. "What time is it anyways?"

"It's around noon." Sherlock still didn't look up from his paper.

John sighed and looked around the flat. "Well, I needed to make a grocery run anyways. Did you want to eat out for lunch?" He tried to look at Sherlock normally but there was an odd grin that he couldn't wipe off of his face no matter how he tried. If Sherlock noticed, which was almost inevitable, he didn't say anything although he was looking at John from behind his paper now. Sherlock gave a small grunt, indicating that lunch sounded good, so John got up and got dressed.

After a painfully long silent taxi drive through the crowded streets of London Sherlock and John got a table at a small deli located on the corner where two streets seemed to collide into each other. John liked the deli well enough but that was beside the point. He needed to decide whether or not to tell Sherlock about what he read. He already knew that he needed to act on it somehow; it was just a matter of how exactly to do so.

"John," Sherlock called, raising John out of his phantasy. "Is everything all right? You haven't been acting like yourself lately." John could see it this time: the emotions behind the ever so subtle changes on Sherlock's face.

"Yeah um, there is something I need to tell you" John practically whispered from across the table. He didn't know how to say it. "Maybe I should wait until later to talk to you about it though." John must have sounded particularly distressed when he said it because the look that Sherlock gave him was somewhat panicked. "It's not a big deal, Sherlock. It can wait."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked a little bit apprehensive about whatever John could possibly have to say. John nodded and waved a hand as if to say that it could wait.

They ate in an awkward silence and took a taxi back to the flat when they were done with the grocery shopping. Sherlock had, of course, asked for about five huge jugs of milk and carried them up the stairs with ease.

"Alright," Sherlock started to say after they put everything away. "What's wrong with you today?" John could tell that Sherlock didn't know what to expect. It made him, as well as John, a little bit anxious.

"When I opened your laptop there was another link on the desktop. It was a word document that you had been writing journal entries in-" John could see Sherlock's eyes open up in a shocked and panicked moment of disbelief. He watched Sherlock's face turn an unnatural shade of white that suited the mortified expression that he had on his face.

"How much did you read?" Sherlock asked, his voice shaky.

"Enough" John replied, ashamed.

"Oh," Sherlock looked disappointed and in shock. "I assume that you'll want me to pack my things then. I apologize, John. I'm truly sorry." He turned; about to go to his bedroom and pack but John grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?" At the thought of Sherlock leaving he felt dizzy and nauseous like he was going to faint. He didn't want Sherlock to leave; in fact he wanted just the opposite.

"John," Sherlock began with a look on his face that told John that all he wanted was to get out of this situation. "It's fine. I get it. You don't need to say anything." He pulled his arm out of John grasp and walked to the door.

"Sherlock-" John started to shout but Sherlock wouldn't listen. Instinctively and desperately, he ran up to Sherlock, grabbed both of his arms and pinned him to the wall in a kiss. He could feel Sherlock tense up as he crashed against the wall and then relax again when he realized what John was doing. Sherlock was kissing him back. He moved his hand to the back of John's head and brushed through John's hair with his fingers. John could feel the coldness of his hands on the back of his neck and it made bumps rise on his skin.

Slowly they pulled apart and John opened his eyes. "If you wanted to do that all you needed to do was ask." His voice was gentle and soft; a contradiction to Sherlock's deep edgy sound.

"How was I supposed to know?" Sherlock's response surprised John.

"You're the best detective I've ever known; the best that the world's ever known. You couldn't tell, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked into John's greyish blue eyes. They reminded him of sea foam on the ocean. "I had thought that perhaps it was my imagination… I wanted to be certain. Our friendship means everything to me."

John smiled at him and it made Sherlock feel butterflies in his stomach. He thought that it was the best smile that he'd ever seen: a smile that could light up a darkened world only be showing the white of his teeth: a smile that could change the mood of anybody that viewed it into something of a happier note: a smile that could make Sherlock return the gesture because if John was happy enough to smile, he was too.


End file.
